threedeadhands

[threedeadhands]

A game without a winner

On a picturesque November 13th afternoon in 2010 in Columbus, Ohio, a matchup between Goliath’s of not only the Big Ten, but in the entire college football landscape took part in a game with no winner in the perils of the NCAA. The game was between the Ohio State Buckeyes and Penn State Nittany Lions, in front of a crowd of over 105,000 spectators that witnessed an event that will only be whispered about in the history of the two universities.  In less than two years after the game that took place on that clear, sunny day, both programs would be in drenched in scandal that both head coach would survive, and their legacy’s torn down like statues of overthrown dictators.

Ohio State was the astonishing favorites by 17-1/2 points at the Horseshoe against Penn State, a considerable margin considering the two Big Ten schools are blood rivals. The Nittany Lions were coming into Columbus winning three consecutive games, and were 6-3 for the season.  But Ohio State was the number nine ranked team in the country and had been authoritative versus every opponent they had faced that season, for the exception of a 31-18 defeat to the Wisconsin Badgers at Camp Randall, the week that Ohio State had overtaken the number one ranking in the polls. The reign at the top was over before they had the slightest chance to savor the moment.

Kickoff was at 3:30 CST, in conditions that was the antithesis of the Big Ten folklore of playing football games the era of when men were men, making bone crushing tackles on frozen ice, disguised as a 100-yard patch of grass and mud. The temperature was brooding around the high 60’s to low 70’s, a few weeks before Thanksgiving.

And Penn State came to demonstrate that they were not going to be bullied by a top ten team in the country. Early in the game, on the third play from scrimmage of the game, Ohio State Quarterback completed a 49-yard pass to DeVier Posey that put the Buckeyes on the cusp of the goal line. Ohio State was inside the ten yard line only moments in, but was unable to get into the end zone. The Buckeyes would have to settle for the three points from the chip-shot field goal. The heavily favorite team had scored within the first four minutes of the game, like everyone not in rooting for the visiting side thought would be normal.  Unfortunately, the impassioned drive of over 70 yards resulted with only three points on the board.

It was now up to a walk-on quarterback from Scranton, Pennsylvania, named Matt McGlovin, who wasn’t even the frontrunner for the gig at the beginning of the season. That distinction went to a supposedly program changer named Robert Bolden, who had the best arm and touch at camp, and was considered the biggest name as well. But McGlovin took over the reins when starter Bolden suffered a concussion in a game a few weeks earlier versus Minnesota. A walk-on from nowhere with a nickname from a classic film, the biggest nerd of the team,  was in charge of one of the idealistic football colleges there was to offer.

In his first drive McGlovin had to respond to Ohio State’s early reminder on how they were ninth in the country, with help from running back Evan Royster, Penn State drove the ball rather easily on the third ranked defense in college. The Nittany Lions faced a crucial fourth and one with around 6:20 remaining in the first quarter. Penn State ran into the heart of the Buckeyes defense to convert. It was a message that coach Paterno wasn’t going to back down from any challenges on that Saturday. Despite being in constant pressure, McGlovin completed pivotal pass after pass. McGlovin then threw a 25-yard touchdown pass with 4:12 left in the first quarter, although he took a powerhouse of hit only brief seconds after releasing the ball that he chucked that finished in seven points and the lead. This would only of the many times McGlovin would have to take grenades for the better good on the afternoon.

After Ohio State was unable to retaliate in the form of a score, Penn State was given a chance to build momentum towards an upset to a scornful rival. Penn State wanted blood. After a balanced attack from Penn State that included an 18 yard run by emerging freshman running back, Silas Redd, and more completions by the walk-on quarterback without a name. Ohio State’s defense was supplying pressure, but it all seemed just seconds short of disrupting Penn State. Then there was a questionable pass inference call on the goal line on a 25-yard pass play. It would take Penn State three attempts to capitalize on their fortunes, but they would get the touchdown from another pass from McGlovin. Penn State had scored two touchdowns within ten minutes of game time and held a 14-3 lead on the road.

Besides Ohio State’s first drive of the game, they were a non-existing entity. They had converted zero third down conversions, and while Penn State hadn’t done much after their two touchdowns, they had done significantly less. A fact that did not go unnoticed by the 105,000 spectators at The Horseshoe, jeers were thundered down upon the ninth ranked team as they headed to the locker room on the home side. Add the fact that it was a national televised game on ABC, the noise those kids heard could resonate country wide.

This would not continue. On Ohio State’s opening drive of the second half, the fortunes would change shift. The Buckeyes resembled the team that had started the game with an authoritative presence, led by 24-yard drive by running back, Brandon Saine, which put the Buckeye’s on Penn State’s five yard line. This time around though, the home squad would finish the task at hand and run down Penn State’s throats the following play. The number nine team in the country had finally scored a touchdown, but it took them longer than most expected. It would not be their last.

Penn State was reeling, not only from Ohio State’s new found momentum, but  because Penn State had also lost their starting running back, Evan Royster, to an injury. Everything Penn State had achieved in the first half was crumbling around them. But Silas Redd, Penn State’s replacement was determined to carry on. His first run of the second half was a 17-yard dash that reminded the Buckeye’s defense the fight was far from over. Unfortunately, the fight was stricken from the Nittany Lions later on in the drive, when the walk-on that played like an All-American in the first half, threw a desolating pick six, on Penn State’s 35-yard line. Ten minutes into the beginning of the second half, Ohio State had reclaimed the lead, that it would hold on to with a vice grip.

Penn State was on the ropes, and after another unsuccessful series on the offensive side of the ball, it was up to the Nittany Lions defense to keep them in the ball game.  It was early on in the fourth quarter when they responded with an inception of a Terrelle Pryor pass, preventing a touchdown that was on Ohio State’s two yard line. It felt like Penn State’s hopes of once again winning the game reverberated through the stadium, but the interception would become more of a hindrance, than an opportunity. Within the shadows of its goal line, Penn State went three and out, but worse, had inadvertently given the Buckeyes the advantage of field possession to do more damage.

The final counterpunch came soon after when Pryor threw a 60-yard spiral towards the end zone, which bounced off three separate players; two Penn State defenders and one other Ohio State wide receiver, before miraculously ending up in the grips of Ohio State receiver, Dane Sanzenbacher, for another Ohio State touchdown. Penn State’s hopes of winning the game had been diminished. In the next Penn State series, out of foolish desperation, McGlovin threw another pick six close to their own goal line. The game was now out of hand and Ohio State had buried Penn State in an avalanche of its misfortune in the second half. The score was imperative of how competitive the action on the field was for a majority of the game, it didn’t feel like a 38-14 demolishing from the ninth ranked team in the land over just another unranked squad.

But in a few months, nothing would seem imperative about a simple game between Ohio State and Penn State.

The first empire to show cracks in its statuesque mystique would be Ohio State, who had went 11-1 in the 2010 season, including 7-1 in the Big Ten, claiming the college’s sixth consecutive BCS bowl bid, although the Buckeyes were only co-conference champions with both Wisconsin and Michigan State. It was clear that the voracious BCS wanted all that comes with the Buckeyes at the Sugar Bowl. It was while the Buckeyes were preparing to play Arkansas in the Sugar Bowl, that whispers of suspensions were a mist. Two weeks away from the game in the national spotlight, five players, including starting quarterback, Terrelle Pryor, were suspended for exchanging Ohio State memorabilia for money and other goods. The other players were; DeVier Posey, Daniel Herron, Soloman Thomas, Mike Adams, and Jordan Whiting. These allegations warranted a five game suspension for all that participated in these acts, but the NCAA allowed the five players to play in the Sugar Bowl. Of course they did, the NCAA wanted as much money as it could squeeze out of each player from both schools. The NCAA is a business first, molding young minds is somewhere far back from the business aspect. Ohio State would end up winning the Sugar Bowl over Arkansas, 31-26, with key contributions from Pryor and Herron.

The crime itself wasn’t a federal case, college kids getting free tattoos for something that came from the kid’s personal achievements while at Ohio State. Not the worse predicament a 21-year old could find him in, he’s young and naïve. The cover-up was what exasperated the entire situation.  The “grownups” at Ohio State had felt the need to lie to the NCAA, in what they proceeded in protecting the intuition of higher education. If only it were a one-time incident. It was later discovered that the environment in Columbus was rampant with players receiving large sums of money and cars as well. Pryor had become only the latest poster boy of what the gains a famous college player can get from boosters wanting a new best friend while studying at Ohio State. The revelation of what exactly head coach, Jim Tressel knew became a national topic of opinion, because he had erected his legacy on integrity, that would become humanly flawed. The downfall at Ohio State destroyed the creditability of the school’s third winningest head football coach in the college’s illustrious existence, when Tresel announced that he would resign six months after the allegations came out. And with any allegation, the snowball effect has a way to ravage everything in its wake. Former Buckeye players came out from all corners of the globe to confess that they too were given deals on cars and sold memorabilia.

Ohio State would also have to deal with a bowl ban for the 2012 season, unimaginable for such a stellar program.

And yet, the innocence of giving underprivileged 18-22 year children cash and deals on cars seemed so minuscule. Penn State would yearn for catastrophes like these.

It was supposed to be just another autumn Saturday afternoon occupied with football in America’s heartland, when murmurs of unconscionable acts performed by a beloved former coach at the school were floating around, while on the field, Penn State had beaten perennial Big Ten doormats, Indiana to the tune of 34-20 at home. These whispers were about ex-defensive coordinator, Jerry Sandusky, who used his control power from his association from both Penn State and Second Mile; a charity that Sandusky had a close affiliation with in University Park, Pennsylvania. It was at Second Mile that Sandusky had recruited children for his exploitations of children seeking guidance from an adult, not looking for one more person to diminish hope on life.

It was on the same afternoon of the 409th victory of Joe Paterno’s career that the Sandusky investigation came into public light. Within 24 hours of the news, the winds of change were surrounding University Park, both Athletic Director, Tim Curley, and senior VP that was in charge of the university’s police, Gary Schultz left Penn State after an “emergency meeting” the college held. These would only be the beginning of the heads to roll at the college. Four days after his victory over Indiana, Joe Paterno, who had devoted his life to Penn State, announced to retire at the end of the current season. But a few hours later, Penn State’s Board of Trustees weren’t going to give Paterno the dignity to go out on his own terms and fired him immediately. The Board also claimed the career of Penn State’s President, Graham Spainer, who was fired along with Paterno.

Two weeks removed from his final coaching appearance, Joe Paterno was diagnosed with lung cancer and a two more months, the now ignominious head coach would succumb to the cancer. As Paterno was dying, he had to watch his legacy destroyed as his final act on this earth. Paterno and the higher ups at Penn State withheld information that could have helped to end of abuse of children, sometimes on the university’s grounds, but because of fear or some other inexplicable reason, they’re mouths remained shut.

It was on December 7th, a little over a month from Paterno’s finale at Penn State, when Jerry Sandusky was formally arrested and charged with 52 counts child molestation and it is thought of over ten boys fell victim to advances of Sandusky. During the trial witness after witness described various accounts of Jerry Sandusky performing unwarranted sexual acts to unsuspecting children in the locker room showers at Penn State. The whistle blower from the Penn State coaching staff turned out to be Mike McQueary, a former quarterback at Penn State from when Sandusky was coaching at the university. He was far from the only witness, but it was the damning testimony of the victims that cemented Sandusky’s fate. He was found guilty on 45 out of 48 accounts and will spend the rest of his days in prison, for altering lives of many children. But the pain he will receive in those prison walls will never compare to the pain he afflicted onto his victims. The penalties weren’t only sanctioned from the law, the NCAA wanted to send a blunt message. It was near “death penalty” sanctions: a four year postseason ban, which includes Big Ten Championship games and the playoff that begins in 2014. A $60 million fine, in the form of an endowment for victims of child abuse, and the offering of a maximum of 15 scholarships to incoming players for four years. Penn State had to vacate all wins from 1998-2011, which abated Paterno’s wins total, knocking him down the pedestal from number one to fifth all-time.

The climate at both colleges that played in that game nearly two years has drastically changed for the better, by bringing their respective football programs to their knees. In Columbus, Ohio and University Park, Pennsylvania, football wasn’t merely king, but it was God himself. The destruction of men and legacies that seemed Teflon is now tarnished beyond God’s touch. For intuitions of higher learning to dedicate their entire lively hood through actions of a game is irresponsible, but that is the imperfect world we live in 2012, especially in too many various parts of our country.  And because of both scandals, the NCAA made sure that there would be no official winner of that game in early November in 2010, no matter of which school would score the most points in the game.

It appears that the only clouds seen on that picturesque day where carrying the shadowy negligence’s of both programs, but eventually those infractions would see the light of day, finally.

[threedeadhands]

New Mexico loses it's native son

Famed boxer Johnny Tapia was found dead in his home last Sunday, on May 27. The date is significant because it was the 37th anniversary of the day his mother, Virginia Tapia past away, four days after being brutally raped, stabbed 26 times by scissors and a screwdriver and hung. An eight-year old Johnny witnessed the entire ordeal, but no one from his family believed Johnny. The ghastly event would shape Johnny for the remaining years of his life, for better and for worse. Johnny Tapia was 45.

It would be around a year later, 1975, that family members would get Tapia into boxing, but with squeamish conditions. If Tapia took beatings inside the ring from opponents, he would also take far harsher beatings from his family members when he lost the fight. The Tapia's were conditioning a child as if he was a pit-bull, and they wanted to win every dogfight they could get their hands on. It was in this unorthodox training that he took a liking to boxing, and discovered what he lacked in percussion, his determination to get not a beating at home, prompted him to his first success as a fighter.

 In 1983, Tapia would win his first National Golden Gloves as a Light Flyweight, the highest honor a boxer can receive in the United States. Tapia, wasn't satisfied, and would go on to win the National Golden Gloves in the Flyweight category in 1985. He was becoming a known brand in the sport, fighting his way through the ranks of the Junior Bantamweight division. In 1990, Tapia defeated Roland Gomez, giving him the Junior Bantamweight championship. But his title would go without defense, he would test positive for cocaine and receive a suspension for the following three and a half years away from the world of prize fighting.

 The fighters that were trying to destroy Tapia in the ring never did the lasting damage that Tapia could inflict on himself. The suspension from testing positive to cocaine would not be his only bout with drugs; in fact it would become his biggest rival.

 In March of 1994, Tapia was deemed to be able to fight again, and within the same calendar year, he would gain the WBO Flyweight title belt, by defeating Oscar Aguilar. He would remain undefeated in the ring, and his life outside was looking as promising as well. He would marry his longtime girlfriend, Teresa. The Tapia's must of thought the storm clouds were no longer on the horizon, but on their wedding night, Johnny was caught with a needle in his arm by his new bride. Johnny had overdosed, and was pronounced dead at the hospital. But he would come back from the dead, for the first time, but not the final instance of his self-destructive ways. He promised his wife of mere hours that he would seek help.

Along with the clashes with drugs, Tapia would also cope with mental issues. The aftermath of the combination of these two would result in Johnny being pronounced dead four separate times, before the bell rang this past weekend, for the final time. Were the thousands of savage blows Tapia withstood since the age of nine a cause of for Tapia's erratic behavior? Before the NFL grew a conscience overnight, and began its crackdown on ultra violet hits, boxing was facing the same questions. But there comes a point in every fighter's life that he must decide to sell their body and soul to the brutal sport of boxing, even though the sport doesn't give a damn about either.

 Three years after winning the WBO Flyweight, Tapia would fight fellow New Mexico native Danny Romero, for the IBF Super Flyweight belt. Romero was presumed to be the great hopes from his home state, making people forget about Tapia. But Tapia would beat Romero in a highly contested fight in Las Vegas, rather than the two's hometown of Albuquerque, in fear of possibly gang violence erupting in the city. Tapia had unified the Super Flyweight belts, but he was wanted another challenge; to move up weight class, back to his original roots in the Bantamweight division. To move up it class, he would have to vacate the unification of both of his Super Flyweight belts, which he did in December of 1998.

 That December, Tapia would fight Nana Yaw Konadu for the WBA Bantamweight championship. Tapia vacated his two other belts for the opportunity and he made the most of it. He would leave New Jersey as the new WBA Bantamweight champion, bringing his newest belt back home to New Mexico. This would be his third different belt, in a second weight class, delivering on the promise that was first raised nearly a decade ago.

 His title reign would only last one more fight. After Tapia knocked out the cupcake named Alberto Martinez in the first round, his next opponent was Paulie Ayala. He was the complete opposite of Martinez. Tapia and Ayala's 12 round masterpiece was called "The Fight of the Year" according to RING magazine. Tapia would suffer his first professional loss in 48 fights, but it wasn't the biggest blow he took in that month.

 Tapia had found out the identity of the man who barbarically murdered his mother around three weeks before the fight with Ayala, through help from his wife. The news should have brought Tapia some form of closure, but it unnerved him. After the fight with Ayala, Tapia attempted suicide, for the first time. The news of learning about his Mother's murderer and the failure he felt after losing for the first time in his paid career was too much to handle for Tapia.

 It didn't take long for the broken shell of a man that Tapia had become to regain a belt. Six months had passed since the loss and suicide attempt, Tapia would win his fourth belt, the WBO Bantamweight, by winning a unanimous decision against Jorge Ellecur Javier. A remarkable turnaround considering the downward spiral that Tapia had endured only months ago. He would lose that belt after one more fight, again to Paulie Ayala. Ayala was responsible for both of Tapia's professional losses, and the fact he was without a title to his name.

Tapia's final belt came in April 2002, after beating Manuel Medina for the IBF Featherweight championship. It was his fifth belt, in a third different weight class. Tapia may have been the world's oldest 35-year old by this point. He was exhausted physically, but nothing compared to him mentally. He went through ups-and-downs that resembled a high risk, high reward stock portfolio. But for most fighters who make their fortunes beating others to a bloody pulp of others, boxing became just another addiction for Tapia. The ring brought serenity to a man whose nickname was "Mi vida loca" or my crazy life for you non-Spanish speaking people.

 He would lose his final belt later that year, in November. He would lose his first professional fight to a fighter not named Paulie Ayala, Marco Antonio Barrera. It was only Tapia's third loss as a boxer in over a decade of fighting inside the ring. His record against the drugs that have crippled him and failed suicide attempts were not as impressive. Tapia would continue to fight until 2005, against fighters that never saw the heights Tapia did.

 But retirement for boxers lasts as long as a daydream for the rest of us, Tapia found him back in the ring by 2007, and then twice more in 2010. As uncivil as boxing can be, it was the healthiest addiction Tapia participated in. Also, the fortune and fame that comes with being a well-known athlete is a light to shun. That is why Tapia continued to fight, but after his final bout in June of last year, he announced his retirement again, this one stuck.

 Tapia is the best known athlete to be born and raised and reside in the state of New Mexico, a market that the racing family The Unser's used to occupy. Although the Unser name is more beloved worldwide, Tapia is more beloved within the state he lived in for all 45 years of his tormented life. But more significantly, Tapia embraced the state for all its good and bad. And as his face changed shape from the repeated blows he remained the face of the state.

The most shocking part of part of the news of Tapia's passing wasn't that he died, but that he lived to see the age of 45. A man that never thought he would outlive his decreased mother, who was 32 when she was murdered. Add his addictions, the fact that he was believed to be bipolar, and the profession that all tried to kill him. He was a survivor first, a fighter second. But ultimately his demons caught up to Tapia on this past Sunday, on the anniversary of his mother’s death. For a kid born on Friday the 13th in February of 1967 and raised in horrendous circumstances for any child, Tapia climbed to heights never imagined in his youthful years.

[threedeadhands]

Hierarchy isn't guaranteed

On May 20th, the Los Angeles Dodgers were trailing the defending World Series champions, St. Louis Cardinals. With the Dodgers playing a lineup that resembles mostly like the franchise's AAA affiliate, Albuquerque Isotopes, the Dodgers were down 5-3 in the bottom of the seventh inning, when a 25-year old, who only made his Major League debut 11 days earlier came up to face Cardinals relief pitcher, Marc Rzepczynski. All 6'5, 250 pounds, the pure definition of a hoss, Scott Van Slyke came up to bat as a pinch hitter. He would not swing on the first three pitches he would see from Rzepczynski, showing a tranquil approach. If the first three pitches showed signs of calmness, the fourth pitch showed a side of animosity for Van Slyke, and with that swing, on what would be the deciding factor in the game, the Dodgers were now up 6-3. Never mind the fact that skipper, Don Mattingly let the 11 day veteran take a hack on a 3-0 count.

 Contrary to logic, hoss' like Van Slyke are in fact born like the rest of us, not carved out of materials left over from the Civil War. Scott Van Slyke was born in Chesterfield, Missouri, on July 24, 1986. He was not born into greatness like some ball players, but he was born into admirable circumstances. His father was Pittsburgh Pirate outfielder, Andy Van Slyke. A player who was a couple seasons from becoming a perennial all-star and gold glove player. Some people claim to have baseball in their DNA, but most of those who make that claim don't have fathers who've won five gold gloves as major leaguer. The elder Van Slyke was playing in his final season with the St. Louis Cardinals, when Scott was born in nearby Missouri, a year away from joining the Pittsburgh Pirates.

 It was in Pittsburgh, where Andy Van Slyke joined an outfield of fellow all-stars; Barry Bonds and Bobby Bonilla, in 1987. The following season saw Van Slyke earn his first all-star selection, while leading the National League with 15 triples. He also won his first Silver Slugger award in 1988, with career highs in both home runs (25) and RBI's (100). Van Slyke was not a one dimensional player; he had a hypersonic arm and is in contention annually for the league lead in outfield assists.

But Van Slyke was the archetype of most baseball players, at 6'2 and a playing weight at around 190 pounds. Nothing special. But what he lacked in physical prowess, he made up in the pure determination of a lion hearted baseball player. This is something Andy passed down to Scott, with his determination to making it to the pinnacle of the majors.

 The paths of the Van Slyke are not too symmetrical; Andy was drafted sixth overall in the 1979 Major League Baseball amateur draft, by the St. Louis Cardinals. Compared to Scott being taken in the 14th round in the in the draft, by the Los Angeles Dodgers. When a ball player is drafted near the top of the draft, expectations of the prospect begins to hear whispers of Cooperstown. Anything short of all-star bids and other accolades, while leading your franchise to the World Series is considered a failure. Guys drafted as far back as Scott do not have that pressure from his franchise. In fact, there is minimal pressure for these guys. It makes for a great headline when someone who comes out of the mist, to make the big club. But shouldn't of Scott's lineage earn him a higher draft position?

 It didn't take Andy four full seasons to crack the majors, making his debut for the Cardinals on June 17, 1983. He became an everyday player right out of the gate, finishing the season with the big club, and never getting the demotion back to the minors. Scott was in the minors for six seasons before getting the call-up to a decimated Los Angeles Dodgers team, which was fielding an AAA in Dodgers caps and uniforms. It wasn't that Scott hadn't paid his dues; he played for dubious teams such as The Great Lakes Loons, Inland Empire 66ers of San Bernardino, and Albuquerque Isotopes, and the Dodgers final stop before joining the big club in the city of angels.

 In 2010, after finishing with the Isotopes, Scott began the season with AA affiliate, Chattanooga Lookouts. Van Slyke was coming off a season with the 66ers, where his batting average of .294, with 23 homers and 100 RBI's that merited him a spot as an all-star in the California League. Back to the 2010 season, his season was idiosyncratic in different locations; in the California League, his batting average was .307, when he was promoted to AA, it slipped to a deficient .233. People within the organization were getting nervous about Van Slyke, but not as much as if a top ten draft pick was.

 If 2009 was Van Slyke's breakthrough, than the 2011 season was a revelation. Starting in Chattanooga, once again, he was a more resolved to impact AA this time around, and he succeeded. In his 130 games, Van Slkye led the Southern League in hitting, with a batting average of .348. He would contribute 20 home runs and 92 RBI's as well, being named an all-star in the league. A more prestigious accolade Van Slkye would put on his mantle would be named "Los Angeles Dodgers Minor League Player of the Year". In fact, the Dodgers thought so highly of his achievements, Scott was added to the Dodgers 40-man roster in the late stages of August. He wouldn't step out into game action during time with the club, but the actuality of becoming a major leaguer for Van Slyke looked more like a matter of time, rather than a pipe dream.

 The struggles that Scott had to encounter on his path to the Dodgers, was something Andy skipped, on his way making the Cardinals. There were no erratic minor league stints, although he did miss significant time with a hand injury in his first professional season, which delayed his debut in the majors. Andy was destined for the majors, eventually making it in 1983. The elder Van Slyke became a force in the 1988, and continued to be one of the best all-around outfielders for five or six seasons. The trio of Bonds, Bonilla, and Van Slkye transformed the Pirates from habitual embarrassment to one out away from the 1992 World Series. It was the 1992 season, where Van Slyke led the National League in hits (199) and doubles (45), both career highs. He would also go on to be the fan favorite of the distinguished trio of Pirates outfielders putting up similar numbers to his counterparts, with what was considered, with decidedly less God-given athleticism.

 1993 would not be as kind to Van Slyke, after injuries to his knee and collarbone; he would only play in half of Pittsburgh games that year. In fact, injuries had startling insinuating Van Slyke's 6'2 frame. After 1992, he would never even flirt with playing a full season, only cracking 103 games in 1994. Than the unimaginable happened, he was no longer a Pittsburgh Pirate. He was a free agent, who would eventual sign with the Baltimore Orioles. He would only participate in 17 games, due to a now chronic back problem. He would jump ship to the Philadelphia Phillies via a trade, where he would remain on the team until the conclusion of the 1995 season. But the back problem persisted, and it was too much for the 34-year old to overcome. Van Slyke had called it a career

. It took father time for Andy to face struggles and question his baseball mortality, after Scott's heroic pinch hit homer, he has done nothing, but struggled. His batting average was at .333 early on, now it's down to an abysmal .214. His home run were career RBI's four, five, and six, a week of games later, he was stuck at six. The pitchers must of started throwing ungodly stuff towards the rookie, and the rookie was reminded a cruel fact, he was still a rookie. People should be mindful of calling this another erratic episode, rather than just being put on a diamond with the greatest baseball players on earth's diamond shape green grass. On the bright side, the Dodgers had no other option. With heavy MVP favorite Matt Kemp out on the 15-day disabled list. So, no matter how putrid Scott played, he was a Dodger, rather than a 66er or Isotope.

 The offspring of ball players aren't guaranteed a shot at their own glories as a major leaguer, as in life, nothing is promised to you from day to day. Everybody struggles; even Albert Pujols had difficulties at the dawn of this season, proving that he was in fact, not Jesus. But Scott had to endure more on his way to the majors than his father, starting with day one for each Van Slyke; draft day. It's always a daunting task for any son to surpass pops in anything, much less in something like professional athletics. Add the fact that his father's trophy case has ghosts that Scott has to live up to, his own trophy case of Sliver Sluggers and Gold Gloves isn't promised. The majors are full of sons trying to escape their father’s shadows, hell; the Dodgers as of the moment have several cases of this phenomenon.

Scott has already defied overwhelming odds of putting on a Dodger uniform, but will his recent struggles derail his dream of big league dreams and most importantly make fans forget about his father's accomplishments. He may go back to Albuquerque after Matt Kemp returns from the disabled list, but he must remind himself of the determination that got him up several levels of ball to leave his imprint on the baseball diamond.

[threedeadhands]

One down, a lifetime to go

Last March, every sports fan from the northern section of the western hemisphere was facing all out sports cataclysm with the very real possibility of the NBA and NFL facing lockouts. The biggest question in two sports had nothing to do with actual competitions played out to a finishing result that was on a scoreboard, but who would win the battle; the millionaire players or the billionaire owners? I thought to myself, why couldn't this be the NHL facing a lockout, again. The league had scarcely survived it's bout with a lockout that wiped the 2004-05 season off of the face of the earth. I realized that the NCAA tournament would come to an end soon, and the only team guaranteed to see the light of day that I openly rooted for was a few months away from declaring bankruptcy, the Los Angeles Dodgers, the panic had overcome me.

 So, I looked at across the pond for the fix, but picking a team from a foreign territory, with a foreign game, didn't feel whole heartily right at my first glances of choosing a team to love in sickness and health, for the rest of my life. This would be the first time in my some-what adult life where I would choose an allegiance to a team, which made me very uncomfortable, honestly. I would do research for over a week, a week that I will never get back in my life, I must remember that on my deathbed, to pick an English Premier League team.

 I had to choose carefully, avoiding the obvious bandwagons that exclude either team from Manchester: Manchester United and Manchester City. United may be the most recognizable brand in sports worldwide, it is at least the most lucrative team in the world of sports. Think of combing the New York Yankees, Boston Celtics, and Dallas Cowboys to realize what United has been to the rest of the world, outside of the United States.

 Manchester City was not an option either, although they would win the team's first Primer crown in 44 years this season. It took Manchester City to pay villainously amounts of money to do so, with a payroll that would make a third world country seizing to mere existence. Since the beginning of the 2008-09 season, when the Abu Dhabi United Group, have spent sums of money that would make George Steinbrenner roll over in his grave. Consider them the Miami Heat of the league, except the team has finally delivered on the promise if reaching the promise land. Money might not be able to buy you happiness, but it sure as hell can buy you a championship in England.

 Other historically teams in running for my undying affection was Chelsea, Liverpool, Newcastle, and Everton, but I found fatal flaws in all of them. Chelsea is as good on paper as any team playing in Europe, but did I really want my team owned by a Russian, who may or may not have mob ties? Liverpool is partly owned by LeBron James, which worried me in the final fourth of the game. Plus, Luis Suarez' blatant racism clinched the nod from me. Newcastle is considered the Oakland Raiders of the Primer League, and Joey Barton was enough for me to pass. An arduous thug who quotes The Smiths, I will pass. And Everton doesn't have the tradition these aforementioned clubs have, but they had Tim Howard, possibly the greatest American football player ever. In the end, that wasn't enough for a lifetime of happiness and pain. Probably a good thing after Clint Dempsey had the greatest season in Europe for an American in the perils of history.

 And then I was down to two teams, both from London; the Arsenal Gunners and Tottenham Hotspur. Both franchises are affluent in history, annual contenders for the Primer League's four spots into the UEFA Champions League, next to the World Cup, the biggest football tournament in the globe, and the two are ferocious rivals. That made it difficult for me to choose one, and seconds later despise the existence of the other.

 Each made compelling arguments for my eternal devotion. Both have raising stars; Tottenham has Gareth Bale, the reigning Primer League player of the year and Arsenal has Robin van Persie, this season's Primer League player of the year. That's a draw, something I would have to get used to now. The Managers were also a close call with Tottenham's Harry Redknapp and Arsenal's Arsene Wenger. Redknapp doesn't have the titles Wenger has, but was the leading contender to be the manager of England's football team this past season. The tie was broke by a novice idea; which club had a classic book wrote by one of my favorite authors, Nick Hornby.

 I became a Gunner, for as long as my body occupied the earth.

 It didn't take for me to wonder to myself if I had made a regrettable awful choice, with Arsenal faltering late in the remainder of the 2010-11 season. At one point the Gunners were favorites to win the Primer League, but finished in fourth place. The club had qualified for the following UEFA tournament, but had to qualify into the group stage. This would also cost Arsenal two key components for future runs of winning trophies and Primer League titles, losing Cesc Fabregas and Samir Nasri, the impending summer. I had discovered that Arsenal was what us Americans considered a "small market" club disguised by the immeasurable lights by the most populated city in Europe, London.

 The season began innocently enough, a nil-nil draw to Newcastle. According to Fever Pitch, Nick Hornby had claimed that Arsenal and Newcastle always drew against each another, and I was expected to spend eternity to draws between the two clubs, then so be it. The headlines from that game were Gervinho received his first red card, in his first game wearing the Gunner colors with an altercation with Joey Barton. Retribution would be Arsenal's later when Alex Song spiked Barton behind his knees. Song would be suspended for the next three games.

Things would only get more dismal, with a loss a 2-0 loss to Liverpool. Then came the unforeseen, unprecedented 8-2 loss to the god send's themselves, Manchester United at Old Trafford. The worse loss in the storied Wenger era as manager of the club from north London. Questions were being whispered not so quietly as the eighth goal of the match for United hit the net, was Wenger's tenure for the storied Gunners drawing to a humiliating conclusion. After an one goal victory over Swansea, the Gunners would suffer an agonizing loss to Blackburn Rovers on the road, a fact compounded that Arsenal scored five goals, disastrously two of those were own goals credited to Blackburn on the scoreboard.

 Arsenal had seven points through the first seven games, symmetry had never sounded so cruel. No club had ever qualified for the Champions League with as few of points in that many matches in the current format of the league, but Arsenal was one spot above of the relegation zone, so UEFA was only a tease from a distant world to any Gunner. Melancholy doubts started overwhelming me in this inauspicious start to the campaign. Was it MY FAULT that a club who had never failed to make the Champions League in 15 consecutive seasons not only makes it to the famed competition, but flirting with relegation? I thought that I had made a horrible choice, and I owed generations of Gunners the sincerest of apologies.

August 31, came the conclusion of the transfer window for the fall campaign for clubs looking for the proverbial boost, we were in need of everything. Arsenal being the small market club that have been historically transgressed the normal, and went on a spending spree, for the Arsenal anyway in signing Per Mertesacker, receiving Yossi Benayoun on a transfer loan from another London famed London squad, Chelsea. But the primary melodrama of the closing of the transfer window was if a mid-fielder from Everton, Mikel Arteta would in fact transfer to Arsenal. The deadline came and went as I was stricken with nervousness of a person on their deathbed if in fact Arteta was joining the Gunners, within a few minutes after the window closed it was confirmed that Arteta would in fact be coming to Arsenal. I cheered as if I was fan of 20 seasons and Arteta would solve all of the clubs calamities.

 The acquisitions acquired in the transfer would revitalize the club, but it was the franchise player that had been tormenting the league since the second half of last season who carried Arsenal back to the winning column more times than not, Robin van Persie. And when he began to score goals, it came in a massive of assortments. He would break former teammate, and the gold standard of goal scoring at Arsenal, Thierry Henry's mark of most goals in a calendar year, with 36.

The main sign that Arsenal had turned it around was a thrilling 5-3 victory over Chelsea at Stamford Bridge. Chelsea was one of six teams ahead of Arsenal in the table, Chelsea was in third place, but Arsenal had climbed up to seventh, after flirting with the relegation area in 17th. Chelsea would take the early lead from a header from Frank Lampard, but van Persie would equalize for the Gunners soon after. Chelsea would take the lead back from a goal from one of the biggest scum of the earth England has ever pushed out between the country's legs, John Terry, right before intermission.

 Right after the clubs returned to the pitch, Arsenal would again equalize from a goal from Andre Santos. Minutes later, than Theo Walcott on a glorious run where he got knocked down, picked him up, and scored the leading third goal for the Gunners. It may have been the first time I felt relief in the season. It was momentarily, like listening to your favorite song of the moment, because it was only for a moment. I knew in the depths of my heart that more goals were certain, but which side would score them was yet unwritten. Mata scored the tying goal in the 80th minute and my fears became reality. But John Terry giveth and he taketh away, and he owed us. He slipped on a backwards pass around the 85th minute and van Persie was there to capitalize, scoring the deciding goal of the match. Van Persie would complete his hat trick in stoppage time.

 It was around this time in the calendar that Arsenal was also facing Marseille, Olympacos, and Borussia Dortmound in Group F in the Champions League. Arsenal's misfortunes in the Primer League had not yet carried over in the European competition, with the Gunners winning the group, with 11 points in the stage and advancing to the Round of 16 in the UEFA tournament. They would draw another world power in the next round, A.C. Milan, but that was still a few months down the road. That heartache was forever away.

 Arsenal had made it back to contention to claiming a future spot in next year's Champions League. Both Manchester clubs were solidified, making the final two spots a four team race among Arsenal, Chelsea, Tottenham and Newcastle.

 Then came New Year’s Eve, where I was visiting friends in the soccer capital of southern Texas; San Antonio. It was an opportunity to show my best friend of 25 years why I have become smitten with Arsenal. It was a nine o'clock start time Central time, so I made a compromise with him; if we met up with one of his friends that were in town still from the holidays, we would go watch the match at a bar. I agreed.

We showed up to The Lion & the Rose a little after the match started. That didn't stop either of us curiously thinking aloud if the bar was in fact open? There were three cars outside, and I immediately knew I was paying for every beer on that morning. Arsenal didn't help my case for becoming a fan, with the lack of goals both sides were refusing to score. What do expect from Queens Park Rangers? I took this incredibly too personal, but the Chelsea-Aston Villa match was on too, and with a victory and a loss by Chelsea, the Gunners were finally back in the top four of the table. It just happen that the owner of the pub was a Villa fan, and when van Persie scored for Arsenal in the 60th minute, compounded with the fact that Chelsea was already down, The four people in that bar, not employed to be there that morning, celebrated as we won UEFA. By 11 in the morning I had a significant buzz, from the five beers, but mostly, because I finally saw a glimpse of hope in the season. I wasn't torturing myself for any apparent reason any longer.

 Thirteen hours later, it was another year, but Arsenal's inconsistent play from the past year had traveled with them. They would go 0 for the month of January in Primer League play, but one of the momentous events of the season occurred within this otherwise grim 31 days. Thierry Henry had been speculated for around a month to return to the north London club. He officially rejoined Arsenal on January third, on a two month loan from New York Redbulls and would waste no time on reliving the magic. Just three days after joining his beloved former club, Henry came on to the pitch and within ten minutes of his second tenure as a Gunner, the definition of icon for Arsenal added another chapter to his legacy, scoring the winner versus Leeds United in the fourth round of the FA Cup. This would be all Arsenal had to celebrate for the first month of another trophy less year.

 But if January was Arsenal at their worst, the next couple of months were the club at its highest potential. The club claimed vengeance on a Blackburn side that beat them early on, to the tune of a 7-1 demolishing. The win would spark a seven game winning streak in the Primer League, Arsenal's longest since 2007. They had surpassed both Manchester clubs to become the hottest in all of England, beating clubs threatening to take up positions for the Champions League in the process. Defeating the likes of Liverpool, Newcastle, Everton, and the loathed rival, Tottenham.

After the complete no-show performance Arsenal showed in the first match versus A.C. Milan in Milan, sealing the seventh consecutive season without a trophy, all of England was curious to see how the club would react with a match against their blood rivals. It only took four minutes for Spurs to score, and then another goal came for the visitors from White Hart Lane in the first 35 minutes of the match, after a penalty kick by ex-Gunner, Emmanuel Adebayor. Gareth Bale had drawn the penalty when he fell down as if had stepped on three land mines, simultaneously.

 Arsenal would retaliate within minutes, Bacary Sagna headed home a goal in the 40th, and van Persie (who else?) delivered a strike that would end the half at 2-2. Six minutes after the intermission, a rejuvenated Tomas Rosicky scored a goal to take the lead over the loathed rivals. Theo Walcott would net two more goals, on simply gorgeous runs to finish Spurs off to a 5-2 victory for Arsenal. This was turning point of the season for the Gunners, bring only down seven points away from third in the table, the spot Tottenham had been of controlled of for most of the year. But by March 21st, Arsenal and Tottenham had reversed positions on the table.

 After the escape versus Liverpool, where Arsenal won the match 2-1 from a last minute goal by van Persie, a game the Gunners had no remote business picking up the three points in. Next the second leg in The Champions League against A.C. Milan, seeking a miracle in London. The prayers were inches away from being answered upon the faithful. Within the first minutes it seemed that the club was on a mission to make the impossible a reality.

 Arsenal was the aggressive side early on, and within in the first six minutes had the validation on the scoreboard, with a header by Laurent Koscieny off of a corner. Tomas Rosicky scored another goal in the 26th minute, where Theo Walcott had the original shot on goal, but a lusterless by an A.C. Milan defender kicked directly to Rosicky as an early gift for the holiday of his choosing. I also heard the greatest call of my time on earth listening to sports, that's over 20 years, when the announcer screamed "they're at base camp!” That sentiment ran even more valid when Alex Oxlade-Chamberlin ran in-between two A.C. Milan defenders in the box, drawing the penalty kick. Robin van Persie would net the third goal just minutes from intermission.

 Arsenal needed a singular goal to push Milan to an extra 30 minutes of free football, and possibly going to penalty kicks to decide who would advance and the opportunities were there for van Persie, on a follow-up on a shot by Gervino that was deflected to the captain, but didn't muster enough to hit the back of the net. This would have been the biggest comeback in Champions League history; instead, Arsenal had to settle with a moral victory that would go unnoticed where the club holds their trophies.

After Queens Park Rangers ended the seven game winning streak, Arsenal had a date with Manchester City in a match of colossal clubs. Both were in the top three of the table, but it was Arsenal who had been the hotter club of late. For the most part it seemed the Gunners were more deserving of the three points, but it took Milkel Arteta to steal the ball, and shoot an elegant game-winning goal in the late stages of the match to seal the 1-0 victory.

 The two clubs went their separate ways, and separate paths to the conclusion of the season: Manchester United would win out the remaining matches, including a 1-0 victory over the other club in Manchester, Manchester United, to win City's first Premier League championship since 1968. Arsenal would lose the next match to Wigan and draw three consecutive matches to Chelsea, Stoke, and Norwich. The draw to Chelsea was the frustrating, considering Chelsea might as well of thrown out their reserves against the Gunners. I showed more heart fighting my hangover at six in the morning, than Arsenal showed on the pitch.

 Despite just three points in the previous four games, neither Tottenham nor Newcastle was able to surpass Arsenal for third in the table. In a rarest of circumstances, where fourth wasn't guaranteed to see UEFA actions, and the riches that ensues, third place should of became the Holy Grail. Chelsea had overcome their inconsistencies to win the FA Cup and make it to the Champions League final versus Bayern Munich, in Munich.

 Heading into the frenetic final Sunday, every club played simultaneously. Watching your club's score was first priority, but watching the club's trying to take the dreams of UEFA away from me was priority 1-A. Tottenham scored in the second minute of their match, but Yossi Benayoun scored for Arsenal only two minutes later. In about ten minutes later, Arsenal found themselves down 2-1, with Tottenham in third. But on the 30th minute, Andre Santos found himself in the right place at the right time, equalizing the match.

 Nine minutes after intermission, Koscieny kicked in the goal that would solidify UEFA aspirations, on a misplay from the goalie from West Brom. All three of the club's goals were scored upon his misfortunes, but better him than we, right? Although Tottenham scored again and won their final match of the year against Fulham, they would have to wait on the Champions League final, to see if they would play in Europe's most prestigious club contest. Chelsea denied Spurs their dreams, with a win over Bayern Munich, in penalty kicks. More importantly, Arsenal had limped into qualifying for the stage group in the Champions League next season, but it would not have been a reality for a season saving tackle by Kierran Gibbs in the final moments of the match versus West Brom. The whistle blew, and my heart stopped for those couple of seconds. Both Arsenal and I had survived, barely.

The post-apocalyptic sports landscape of last March never materialized; the NFL missed some exhibitions, but never lost a single second of significant football. The NBA wasn't as fortunate, not starting the regular season until Christmas, playing a diminished 66 game regular season, compared to its traditional 82 games. But it was miraculous that the NBA had a season, flirting with the all too real possibility of NO SEASON, and was within days of that fate.

 If that calamity would of happen, I would of been set. Although the six hour difference is an adjustment most are not willing to take for a game that could end without any resemblance of a result on the scoreboard after an hour and a half of 22 men running around on an enormous pitch of grass. It's not easy to wake up at 6:30 or 5:30 in the morning, depends if I was in Texas or New Mexico, on a Saturday or Sunday. Devolution knows no boundaries when following a team from the Primer ship or La Liga or Serie A, but the rewards are more fruitful than following a team from the same time zone that you both occupy.

As Arsenal awaits the decision of Robin van Persie, will he stay or will he go, most likely to Manchester City, if he decides he's had enough of being worshipped at the Emirates. One thing I know for sure is Arsenal will still manage to exist with or without van Persie, because no man is bigger than a club that enter its 126th season in top flight England football, I will cheer for them regardless. Because sports fandom is the greatest form of love being blind, and my blindness radiates all the way from north London.

[threedeadhands]

The Backroom of Baseball

Last week, Ozzie Guillen served a five game suspension handed down by the Miami Marlins organization for remarks Guillen stated his admiration of Cuban dictator, Fidel Castro. While being interviewed by Time magazine, he was quoted "I love Fidel Castro". And after thinking about what he just said and he proceeded to continue with "You know why? A lot of people have wanted to kill Fidel Castro for at least 60 years, but that motherf-- is still here." Ozzie being the boisterous personality he is has been given free range to say anything, to anyone. But has Ozzie being Ozzie dissolved now that every single blurb out of his mouth from this point on going to be more magnified, even more so than ever, as unimaginable that may seem. The bigger picture of the colossal failure of the entire episode is; why do sports and politics coincide with each other harmoniously?

Gullien's suspension of his belligerent comments came on the heels of Major League Baseball's self-appointed celebration of Jackie Robinson day, where the league celebrated the 65th anniversary of Jackie Robinson becoming the first African-American professional athlete in our country's history. It's a day of remembrance and jubilation across ballparks nationwide and every player in baseball wears Robinson's number 42, which has been retired by all of the teams in the MLB, besides technically by the New York Yankees, with reliever Mariano Rivera who still wears 42, paying homage to Mr. Robinson. The gala that occurred this past weekend in merriment of Robinson is a friendly reminder of the social stances that baseball has taken in yesteryear. Unlike any other sport in our country, baseball's social conscience has been incredibly influential in shaping the views of Americans. Milestones with a multitude of minorities have seemed to of happened involving our national pastime.

 Not that baseball has always chosen the path of the righteous when it came to politics, many of the best known stars of the turning of the twentieth century, and baseball executives being horribly racist. None more so than MLB's first commissioner, Kenesaw Mountain Landis. After many pleas for various ball-clubs to eradicate segregation for the league, Landis stuck to his guns, as immoral as there were, and decided to keep the national pastime segregated until his death in 1944. Landis had single handedly comprised the sport that he loved, for reasons unfounded to any person of reason.

Then there are the conflicting reports of the first legend baseball knew on a household basis, Ty Cobb. An incident that happened in 1907, where Cobb brutally assaulted an African-American groundskeeper and his wife, when she attempted to stop the encounter during a spring training game in his home state in Georgia. Reports came out after Cobb's death that the "Georgia Peach" was in fact not a racist, but others have been reluctant to believe this stories of good deeds towards minorities.

 Ozzie's misguided comments of Fidel Castro were reminiscent of an analogy that is too commonplace in sports, and in society overall, that of comparing any entity to Adolf Hitler and/or his Nazi regime. Just ask Hank Williams, Jr about the downfall one can encounter, when you make that senselessness analogy of drivel. In an interview with FOX News, Williams, Jr compared Barack Obama to Hitler to prove a point. In reaction to Williams, Jr's comments, ESPN decided to disassociate the company from Williams, Jr's opening opus to Monday Night Football after 20 years. Even the singer stated in a pseudo apology that it was an extreme point, but that was the point. Nothing in sports is worthy of comparisons to The Holocaust or loss of life; no one in the history of man has ever won an argument or proved his point with it.

The difference between Gullien and Williams, Jr, is that the coach who made a foolish statement has showed nutrition on making amends. Ozzie flew down to Miami the day after the media fire storm to hold a press conference, to advocate for forgiveness from the Marlins fans. The day of the press conference, there were several anti-Castro groups threatening to hold boycotts in attending future Miami Marlins, in light of the stadium that is only in its infancy. These threats went unnoticed and without incident on Gullien's first night back to manage the team. Some reports claim that there was an entire colony of one protester outside of the stadium, but this was only one night, we have to put that into perspective. The mob might be gathering in numbers, or Gullien's apology may have satisfied a majority of the masses in little Havana.

 Baseball has even revealed some of the greatest political contributors in the past 50 years. Take for instance George Will, the Pulitzer Prize winning columnist from The Washington Post and Newsweek. He is among the giants of journalistic integrity, who makes references to baseball frequently in his work. Will is a die-hard Chicago Cubs fan, an eternal optimist, if there ever was one, has written two books on baseball, as well. Charles Pierce, before Esquire gave him the reigns to its political page, was a legendary sports writer at the Boston Globe, with divine contemporaries, Bob Ryan and Peter Gammons. We should all be so fortunate. Pierce still contributes to Bill Simmons' Grantland website, where every sports story he writes about is a can't miss. Then there is Nate Silver from the FiveThirtyEight political blog for the New York Times. Silver, first began with the website Baseball Prospectus, as a writer of saber-metrics. He developed his on saber-metric statistic, PETCOA, predicting a ballplayer's career. He would use some of that SABR mentality to form his political blog, predicting who would win what elections, and has become one of the greatest political minds in the business

 Fans are weary of mixing the sweet science with all that comes with the ill feelings that come up the second one even contemplates bringing up a political topic, but the two have mixed for over a century already. Everybody has a political view, either right wing or left wing, or splits down the middle, which makes no sense, but hey, that's politics in a nutshell. To quote Keith Olberman (I'm sorry, not trying to upset anyone, I swear!)"I'm not a liberal, I'm an American", who also happens to be a great baseball mind. But fans stick to their allegiances in the form of the party that identifies with that individual most and the baseball club that fits that individual's personal views of the world equally.

[threedeadhands]

The sacred art of the first pitch

Last week saw the majestic return of the nation's pastime and all that comes with it. The skipping of work and school for fathers and their children to soak up the beams of sunshine, the antics of the mascot wearing paper-thin with the patrons within the first 30 minutes of being at the ballpark, and of course the singing of the National Anthem by whatever famous singer the park was able to get for opening day. Then comes the time honored ceremonial first pitch by a celebrity; it helps if said celebrity is actually a fan of the home team, which is as American as the sport that honed the tradition. And when I say American, I mean that we robbed the concept from the Japanese. I mean, what is more American than taking someone else's idea for capitalistic gain.

 Who would have thought that a tour of professional players from America put together by a manufacturer of sporting goods, one of the largest at the time in the country, A.J. Reach, would affect the sporting culture endlessly? Reach wasn't necessarily trying to spread goodwill between the United States and Japan, as much as Reach hoped to establish relations with the Japanese, and his hopes to expand his sporting goods kingdom globally. It wasn't Reach that would make his name during the tour though. The Reach all-American team would face a Japanese university called Waseda, in a game on November 22, 1908. A seemingly insignificant contest that became the stuff of lore, when the former prime minister of Japan, Okuma Shigenobu was given the hardball, and from his seat in the grandstands, threw what would become the first ceremonial first pitch in the history of baseball. A new staple of the game was born.

 The players from the United States would take notice of Shigenobu's pitch from the stands and word of his actions would spread. Then came Major League Baseball's opening day in 1910, on April 14, about a year-and-a-half after Shigenobu's ceremonial first pitch, President William Howard Taft threw the inaugural ceremonial first pitch in North American history. The tradition of the president throwing out the ceremonial first pitch at a ballpark in Washington D.C. on Opening Day became the greatest of spectacles in sports rapidly. This honor would be for dignitaries originally, but through the perils of history, even the least significant of celebrity's could be sue this dubious distinction, yes I am referring to the Kardashin's.

 The ceremonial first pitch would become one of the unwritten pleasures that came with the presidency of our country, with every president from that point on having thrown out a ceremonial first pitch, either on Opening Day, The All-Star game, or The World Series. The tradition of Opening Day always fell to the nation's capital as well, Washington D.C., until 1974, where Richard Nixon threw the first ceremonial first pitch outside of the capital on Opening Day, at Anaheim Stadium in California. 1974 would be a busy year for Nixon for other less dignified reasons too. The prevailing reason that Nixon's first pitch was not in the nation’s capital, was that the Washington Senators ceased to exist. The Senators faced extinction not once, but twice, leaving the city originally in 1960, to become the Minnesota Twins. A year later, MLB rewarded a newer version of the Washington Senators back to the district, yet only lasting a decade, until anything resembling the Senators left to form the Texas Rangers in 1971.

The next evolution of the ceremonial first pitch would happen in the following decade, with the presidency of Ronald Reagan. Instead of throwing the ceremonial first pitch from the stands, he decided that he wanted to take the fantasy one step further. Reagan wanted to throw from the pitching mound or in the proximity of the mound. He threw a ball that hit the dirt at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, the new home of Opening Day after losing our national pastime in our nation’s capital, of course.

Reagan would take another step of the fantasy further by watching the game from the Baltimore Orioles dugout. This goes down as the greatest executive order in baseball history. Reagan would even out Reagan himself in his next term, by throwing out two ceremonial pitches at the cathedral that is Wrigley Field, in Chicago. After the pitches, he would join the broadcast for an inning and a half, accompanying Harry Caray in the booth. No president has loved the scared lost art of the first pitch more than Reagan, so it seemed perfect that it would be him that brings the first pitch full circle; when Reagan threw out a ceremonial first pitch during the 1989 Japanese World Series.

 Reagan's predecessor, the elder George W. H. Bush, did get to throw the first ceremonial first pitch, as president of the United States, in Canada. So, he's has that on the resume. But it was around this time that minor league teams starting having moderately prominent local celebs taking part on this tradition. Also, having contests where anybody could throw a ceremonial first pitch, became a niche among the lower levels of baseball, no longer just for the elite of the country.

 Than in 1993, Bill Clinton went all in on his first crack at the ceremonial first pitch at Camden Yards in its second year of existence. He brought his glove to the ballpark, all oiled up and everything. But he threw a strike, from the mound, not the base of the mound. He was commended for his pitch, which was the gold standard for eight years.

 After the 9/11 attacks on America's home soil, the idealistic psyche of the country was visible shaken, with all sport contests being put on hold, understandably. Major League Baseball put the situation into proper perspective and delayed the games that were supposed to be played for a while, leading to the first MLB season to end in the month of November. One of the healing moments of the nation was President George H. Bush, who was once the owner of Texas Rangers, who were once the ball team formerly known as the Washington Senators, was handed the ball within miles of ground zero of the attacks in New York City. It was fate that a team from the city made it to the fall classic that year. In game three of the fall classic, Bush threw a strike to Yankees captain Derek Jeter, who joked with the president right before the pitch. His pitch would go down as the quintessential first pitch in humanity's history of first pitches.

 It was around the time of Bush's landmark first pitch, that MLB ball clubs were beginning to get notably celebrity's to throw out the first pitch on Opening Day, but also having first pitches year round, for every game. The first pitch began to be cheapen in this regard with just anybody famous at that moment, was worthy of the adulation. There was no more abominable instance than what happened at SafeCo field in Seattle, on June of 2003. Nine time Olympic gold medalist, Carl Lewis threw out a ceremonial first pitch that traveled five feet, and that might be a generous estimate. This would go down as the absolute worst first pitch in the history since its inception, especially from someone as athletic as Lewis. He has been ridiculed unrelentingly since.

 Not that others haven't attempted to be nearly as awful at first pitches as Lewis' debacle. On Opening Day for the Cincinnati Reds in 2007, the mayor of the city, Mark Mallory threw a pitch that was just a bit outside to Eric Davis. The home plate empire jokingly tossed Mallory out of the game, after his deplorable toss. Then came Mariah Carey's poor excuse of a first pitch in Japan back in May of the following year. The pop star was wearing 20 inch heels, which should have been a pre-curser of the horrendous first pitch that ensued. God awful first pitches aren't relegated to humans, with the concept of an animal-tronic T-Rex throwing out a first pitch for a Chicago White Sox game in 2009. The ball went a great distance of about 15 feet, around the distance of Lewis' and Carey's first pitches combined, so it could be worse.

This season's installment of ceremonial first pitches has ranged from the emotional to eccentric. The Opening Day in our country, I'm excluding the two game series between Oakland and Seattle, was actually at night in Miami. The Miami Marlins introduced everyone to a new name, colors and stadium last Wednesday night. The franchise decided to bring in Muhammad Ali to hand the ball to Marlins third baseman, Hanley Ramirez. Although it wasn't technically a pitch, it was none the less an emotional moment for the newly christening of Marlins Park.

 Not to be outdone by Pittsburgh on the following day, when they chose Jeremy Feldbusch, a veteran of the Army, who was completely blinded by shrapnel while serving in Iraq in 2003. With guidance of his aid, Feldbusch threw a strike right down the middle.

 The Chicago Cubs decided to go another route when choosing a celebrity to throw out the first pitch, in Bill Murray. This was not his first ceremonial first pitch at Wrigley, back in 2004; Murray threw it over the catcher into the stands, while injuring his arm in the process. But before Murray's first pitch, came an impromptu running of the bases that resulted into a collapse over home base, which was originally going to be a slide. His pitch came soon after, nothing as entertaining as his running of the bases or his time in the booth, referring to Harry Caray's "commitment to the lifestyle" while talking to the commentators.

 The ceremonial first pitch has been around for over a century, evolving over that time along with society. Our country has changed significantly for the better, mostly, over those 100 years. The evolution has also come with the pitch itself, starting from a grandstand in Japan, to any ballpark in the country that has a 24 by 6 inch piece of rubber that is 60 feet, 6 inches away from home plate. And with a simple toss of a baseball, in that momentary glimpse of heaven, all the problems of everyone in the stands problems disappear and all is right with the world.

[threedeadhands]

Changing of the guard

On Thursday morning, around 7:30 Augusta time, three immortals of the game; Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus, and Gary Player kicked off the 2012 Masters in a fashion that is as traditional as the tournament itself. The greatest living ambassadors of the time honored sport have the most distinguished tee times anybody can have in a lifetime. Tradition has become the trademark of The Masters, both good and bad, but after what we all witnessed late Sunday evening, a new aurora is on us. And possibly the greatest component of that sensational afternoon was the fact that we weren't asking the irresponsible question of whom will become the next Tiger Woods? Primarily, because the future of the PGA never had to face Tiger when he was in fact Tiger, never having to face him head to head in a final pairing on a Sunday, while Tiger was wearing his Sunday red

. I am well aware of Bubba Watson's well deserved breakthrough at The Masters this past weekend, but I do not want to be dismissive of the performance of the gap toothed South African, Louis Oosthvizen, whose albatross on the second hole was the tournament’s first at that hole in its 76 years. With one swing of his 4 wood from 253 yards, Oosthvizen entered the lure of The Masters, for eternity. He would take the lead on the historic shot, which would shake the two in the final pairing; Peter Hanson and Phil Mickelson. He would have some share of the lead until the second playoff hole, where Bubba Watson outplayed him, even though he may not of won The Masters, he wasn't particularly a loser on Sunday either. I believe he could take some solace in this thought process.

 It's impossible to think that only the fourth albatross in Masters History would only be the second most memorable shot in that year's tournament, but a man named Bubba accomplished that feat. His second shot on the second playoff hole, the tenth hole at Augusta, would implement Bubba's place in Masters History. If you joined the coverage late and saw the position of Watson's ball hit well into the gallery of the patrons, you would of thought he had played his way out of the green jacket, but he hit an almost identical shot his first time on the tenth a few hours earlier. He adverted disaster the first time and became a legend on the second occurrence.

 Comparisons of Watson's miraculous shot at the tenth reminded the masses of the original left handed shush-buckler, Phil Mickelson. The carefree mentality both golfers display on and off the golf course are what make them among the biggest draws in the sport. The shots they pull off in front of the fans watching live or on television do not compare to the livid shots each have the imagination to attempt in their heads. Watson wins his first major at the age of 33-years old, coincidentally the same age as Mickelson won his first major, both of them winning the green jacket.

 Let's not forget to mention the chosen one who was supposed to win The Masters this year, Rory Mcllroy. Mcllroy was on the leader board early being within one shot behind the leader at the time, the ageless wonder, Fred Couples. Rory was harmoniously looking for redemption after his catastrophic final round during last year’s Sunday at The Masters. His run towards redemption was ill-fated. His Saturday this year rivaled his Sunday of a year ago, except he wasn't in the lead this time around, so the cameras and scrutiny wasn't as magnified. But what is it about the famed grounds at Augusta that leaves Mcllroy with a nightmarish round once a tournament? It seemed to be perfectly symmetry that Rory's partner the round of his latest meltdown at Augusta was Sergio Garcia, a man who was hailed as the next great, but the recognition and fame never came true for Garcia. At least Mcllroy won his next opportunity of a major championship after his heartbreaking display at Augusta, in winning the US Open in dominating style.

 When you hear about kids that came from Baghdad and Hollywood to gain glory on the greens made famous by the likes of Sneed, Palmer, and Nicklaus, Florida and Ireland doesn't necessarily come into ones conciseness. The future of the game has arrived and with no legitimate idea of how long ones prime is in the profession of golf. The fact that Bubba is 33 is shocking, because he looks and plays with the reckless amendment of a golfer who just became old enough to drink at a bar legally.

 Oosthvizen joined the conversation after winning The Open Championship in 2010, but has surprisingly only made five cuts in majors in his career. While making the most of these opportunities in the biggest stages of golf, the calmness he displayed on Sunday showed that experience will lead to confidence and further success. Then there's Mcllroy's case for becoming one of the all-time greats, having won a major at 21-years old, and having one slip through his grips the previous major before. Can he, or anyone, live up to the expectations demanded in the new social media world? At least we expect these men to make a name for them, no longer asking the pointless question of who will be the next Tiger.

[threedeadhands]

Opening Day in a hopeless place

Is there a more tangible gospel of the arrival of springtime, than when a white ball, the size of an ordinary man's hand makes its return to freshly cut acres of grass covering the local baseball diamonds? Baseball is a sport of the eternal optimist, with the change of the seasons come a new opportunity of winning. Tragically, some cities do not share this belief; Pittsburgh is not a city that holds this dear to their hearts.

The Pittsburgh Pirates will begin this season versus in state rival, Philadelphia Phillies early afternoon on Thursday, 1:35 EST to be precise. Only a five and a half hour trek by car, 305 miles separate the Pirates and Phillies, but they might as well be worlds apart. They are separated by division alliances, current success, philosophies on free agency, and attitudes of fans nationwide. The pageantry of all that comes with Opening Day; the ceremonial first pitch from the great from brighter days, the mascot parading the grounds as if he was a combination of Ted Williams and Babe Ruth, and the singing of the National Anthem by a pseudo local celebrity, are all things forgotten after the first couple of innings in Pittsburgh. The city will feel like it will be mathematically eliminated from playoff contention by the seventh inning stretch.

 How has the franchise that has luminaries such as Honus Wagner, Ralph Kinner, Roberto Clemente, and Willie Stargell as distinguish Alma mater fallen to depths that are currently at? Not to mention that they play in a gem of a ballpark, PNC Park. It is a field that deserves the notion of being played on a baseball diamond with its view of the Pittsburgh skyline. A seat in the stadium may have the most picturesque scene of all of Pittsburgh. But the organization rarely puts out a team that is worthy of playing on this stage, particularly because it's refusal to spend the money necessary to compete. Do not buy into the Moneyball model either, even Billy Beane claimed that once a team made it to the playoffs it was "a crap shoot".

 The last time the Pirates were a contender on an annual basis was the 1990's, loaded with promising superstars in the making; a pre-steroidal Barry Bonds and Bobby Bonilla. Along with a stalwart core of players that included Jay Bell, Andy Van Slyle and Doug Drabek, the Pirates made it to three consecutive National League Championship Series from 1990-92, but the group was unable to get past the Atlanta Braves to make it to the World Series in any of these instances. The 1992 NLCS would prove to be the most tormenting for the organization, with Francisco Cabrera's base hit with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, which brought in a sluggish Sid Bream. The Braves would win the game 3-2, and win the battle-tested seven game series with Cabrera's hit. The Pirates would be mortally wounded, dissolving the team as warranted in the following offseason.

No team knows the stigma of being a "small market" franchise more than the Pirates. After the ill-fated attempt to make it to the fall classic in 1992, the big names on the team started to go to cities that are equally big names themselves. This template would become the mantra of the team, which would lead to a North American professional record 19 losing seasons consecutively. Mediocrity became aspirations for all fans of the Pirates, because what they would become for almost the next two decades were below that. The traditional salary dumping before the all-star break is one that has become painfully familiar. In some circles, the Pittsburgh Pirates are regarded as a bountiful farm system for the contenders, who make one-sided trades for Pittsburgh's eventual stars they cannot afford long term. The letting their best players out into the wild that is free agency or trades is a tradition that started out with Bonds and Bonilla, but that was not the end of it. Interval players, who made their effect on other ball clubs. Future all-stars Jason Bay and Jason Kendal, both rose to the majors with the Pirates before impacting other franchises, respectfully; Bay with the Boston Redsox and Kendal with the Oakland Athletics. Then came the infamous salary dump in the 2009 season where the Pirates would trade Jack Wilson, Adam LaRoche, Freddie Sanchez, and Nyjer Morgan, before the trading deadline. Any Pirate the causal baseball fan NOT living within 50 miles of Pittsburgh city limits was forever gone.

 Ownership of the Pittsburgh Pirates have always been more about raking in profits, rather than fielding a competitive team. Championships have been considered a business plan that would cut into profits for owners past and present. The current owner unwilling to contend for a title is Robert Nutting, who was responsible for the major changes for the Pirates in 2009. The conventional wisdom of the fans not attending the games ran true, until last season, where the Pirates attendance was the fourth highest in the franchise’s history, and the highest since PNC Park opened in 2001. And why not, the team's ticket prices are the fifth lowest in all of Major League Baseball. Was this past season an outlier or a new found love for the Pirates? Either way, the profit margin for the Pittsburgh Pirates was 25 million dollars in 2010, with the combination of high-revenue teams, like the New York Yankees of the world paying luxury taxes that would go to low-revenue teams. Unluckily, there is nowhere in the labor deal saying that the Pirates actual have to spend the money received by these teams.

 The predominant reason for the resurgence of attendance in the 2011 season was simple; the Pirates resembled a major league ball club. The team has its most promising star since Barry Bonds, in Andrew McCutchen. McCutchen has all five tools sought after by any scout and a charm that may be more of a gift, as his talents on the field. The Pirates where above the .500 mark on May 9th, the latest of this occurrence since Pittsburgh's last playoff run in 1992. They would continue that bench mark and actually be above that mark at the all-star break. A team gaining the respect of the rest of MLB, having three players selected to the all-star team; Kevin Correia, Andrew McCutchen, and Joel Hanrahan. Yet, the biggest sign that the times may be undeniably changing was the franchise that almost traded anyone collecting a paycheck for them in 2009, was pulling off trades for a playoff run. Unfortunately, all hope faded in late July, but it was a promising glimpse of hope.

Now that the Pirates are somewhere in-between of being completely invisible and becoming blips of the radar, can they strive for another escalation of success? There is no bigger backhand compliment, than being labeled "full of potential". The Pirates have an emerging superstar and a dominant closer as marvelous building blocks into the foundation of the Pirates, but they need to ignore the recent missteps of the organization's past. The epiphany that struck Mr. Netting last season needs to stay with the owner, rather than resort to the business as usual stance Pittsburgh has regarded the past 20 years and I promise you, to the city of Pittsburgh and all of the Pirates fans elsewhere, you will reek the benefits for the last 20 years of undying loyalty.

[threedeadhands]

The Hottest Woman of 2012: Kate Beckinsale How Beckinsale became the hottest woman of 2012, the following are the beautiful women she beat: Second round: South 16 seed Jenn Brown Round of 32: South 8 seed Keira Knightly Sweet 16: South 4 seed Olivia Wilde Eilite Eight: South 3 seed Cheryl Cole Final Four: West 4 seed Emma Watson National Championship: Midwest 2 seed Candace Baliey

[threedeadhands]

The National Championship of determining of the hottest Woman of 2012. Candace Bailey

[threedeadhands]

The National Championship of determining the hottest Woman of 2012. Kate Beckinsale

[threedeadhands]

A rogue program within the program

The Baylor men's basketball team introduced to the country's conscienceless highlighter as a color, and not just as a product senior citizens use for crossword puzzles. The NCAA should have started every game Baylor played in with a disclaimer; the following uniforms may cause seizures and serious trauma to a person's retina. And that should be the end of the conversation of uniforms a school decides to wear, but then I caught highlights of Brittany Griner dunking in consecutive games for the Baylor's women's team. After the tenth replay and fifth different angle of Griner's second dunk, I noticed something, there was a swoosh above the Baylor on the front of her jersey. In the back of my mind was the fact that Adidas pounded in our heads while marketing the men’s basketball team, why was there any disparity? The truth is far darker than any conversation concerning shoe companies should ever be.

The reason why the conglomerate that is Nike outfits Baylor in every other sport that is not men’s basketball is, because of the most unimaginable scandal to hit the NCAA, ever. In 2003, Nike showing a rare stance on anything significant, disassociated themselves from the university's men’s basketball team after the murder of Patrick Dennehy, by his teammate Carlton Dotson. To make the situation far more inconceivable, the head coach at that time, Dave Bliss tried to persuade his team that the recently deceased Dennehy was a drug dealer. In reality, Bliss was paying for Dennehy's stay at Baylor. This would only be one of the problems facing the program, along with unbridled drug abuse with many of the players. It was only a myth that Bliss started about Dennehy's drug dealing past, so there is no correlation with that story and the drug abuse among the players.

 The drama unfolded in Waco, Texas like a badly written drama, unfortunately it was all too real. From June 17, 2003, the day that Dennehy was reported missing, to almost a full year later, when Carlton Dotson was found guilty of his teammate's murder on June 15, 2004, new details and the consequences that each detail warranted come to the fore front daily. Remember that Waco is modest in population, but is in between of Austin, the state of Texas' capital and Dallas, one of the major cities nationally. A majority of administrators heads would roll with their involvement in the cover-up. Head coach Bliss and his athletic director, Tom Stanton resigned with the shame of trying to assassinate the character of one of their recently deceased players. The abyss of hell doesn't know the lows that coach Bliss sunk into.

The entire program was in jeopardy, if there was a case that warranted the apprehension of the "death penalty", it would be a scandal that involved the loss of life. The NCAA would not kill the program, but it left on life support. The murder of Patrick Dennehy only brought to the light of Baylor's lack of institutional control. The coaching staff giving direct payments to players and the allegations of drug abuse, the program was just begging to be made an example. The NCAA did not disappoint, taking a way season of non-conference games. Baylor was handed a reduced season, but was allowed to participate in a Big 12 games that season. The punishment would be carried out the following season, in 2005-06, where Baylor would only play 16 games, starting their season oddly in January to Texas Tech. Baylor was also down to seven scholarships for upcoming seasons. This made the resurgence more remarkable.

 The resurrector of the program would be named only three weeks after the disgraceful resignations of Bliss and Stanton, his name was Scott Drew, who at that point was best known as the son of former head coach of Valparaiso, Homer Drew. The destiny of the men’s basketball program at Baylor rested on the shoulders of a 33-year old coach with only a season of head coaching experience. The fact that he was named head coach in late August was unheard of, and a massive disadvantage for his team, or what was left of his team. The players at the school were given exemptions to transfer out of Baylor after the scandal broke, if they desired to. There were also the postseason ban and the fact they would only be allowed to carry seven players on scholarship until 2007. Drew weathered the storm of trying to reconstruct the program facing the impediments the NCAA threw his way.

 Baylor would not win more than 15 games in any of Drew's first four seasons at the university, including only four victories in the season where Baylor wasn't allowed to play any games against non-conference opponents. Drew's persistence would collimate when Baylor made the NCAA tournament in the 2007-08, going 21-11. It was only the school's fifth NCAA tournament berth in its history. The following season Baylor would make it to the NIT championship game. The program was gaining notoriety once again for the play on the court, rather than the previous haunting headlines coming out of Waco only five years previously. The next season saw Baylor make it to the Elite 8, the school’s first since 1950. They would duplicate the feat again this past season. Baylor, as currently constructed see unprecedented acme. Three of the seven appearances in the NCAA tournament in Baylor's lack-luster history have been guided by Drew. He would lead the program out of calamity and help lead the ghosts of past problems out of Texas.

 It came to the point where few wanted a piece of the Baylor men’s program. Nike instantly grew a conscience, and decided to drop just that one particular program. This was extremely rare to see, Nike still wanted Baylor, just not the murderous section. Why didn't Nike just pull the plug from the entire athletic program from Baylor? It's due to Nike being a business, not a seminary. Nike was afraid of their brand being dragged through the mud, which never makes for a prosperous mission statement on the roads to riches.

Aberrantly, Nike would stick by Tiger Woods and Penn State, when faced with their own scandals that came to surface. In the case of Tiger Woods, no actual laws were broken, he just decided to attempt to become the Wilt Chamberlin of professional golf. The Penn State scandal was far sinister in nature, where Jerry Sandusky was having sexual indiscretions with minors. The revelations of misconduct cost the job of legendary head coach Joe Paterino. And a few months after the debacle came to light in College Station, Paterino passed away. There was no more passionate speaker at his funeral, than the founder of Nike, Phil Knight. Where was his plea for Baylor when they desperately needed a friend?

 Is it time for the swoosh to come crawling back to the jilted lover? Can they coexist with each another once more? Would the men’s team at Baylor even want to become a part of the Nike family, leaving Adidas, the company that’s outfitted the program since Nike dropped them. Nike's biggest star in the women's game currently resides in Waco, with Brittany Griner, but after her departure, will her roots be enough to convince the men to follow suit. The allegiance that Baylor and Adidas have forged seems to be an ample pairing, minus the retina burning uniforms. The fact that Adidas was fearless enough to put Baylor in an uniform in a color called highlighter, was the same thinking behind the company's idea of picking them up when no one else wanted to. And once you have found loyalty as unwonted as this pair has, why not stick with the one you've reeked the benefits with.

[threedeadhands]

East 2 seed: January Jones Next opponent: Candace Bailey Past opponents: 15. Katherine Jenkins 7. Jessica Alba 6. Sofia Vergara 1. Kate Upton

[threedeadhands]

West 4 seed: Emma Watson Next opponent: Kate Beckinsale Past opponents: 13. Florence Brundenell-Bruce 5. Jessica Biel 1. Miranda Kerr 7. Christina Hendricks

[threedeadhands]

Midwest 2 seed: Candace Bailey Next opponent: January Jones Past opponents: 15. Emmy Rossum 10. Megan Fox 11. Amanda Seyfried 1. Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

[threedeadhands]

South 1 seed: Kate Beckinsale Next opponent: Emma Watson Past opponents: 16. Jenn Brown 8. Keira Knightley 4. Olivia Wilde 3. Cheryl Cole

[threedeadhands]

The Elite Eight of the Hottest Woman of 2012

South: 1. Kate Beckinsale 3. Cheryl Cole East: 1. Kate Upton 2. January Jones West: 4. Emma Watson 7. Christina Hendricks Midwest: 1. Rosie Huntington-Whiteley 2. Candace Bailey